


Anytime

by Bannerific (Nellethiel)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellethiel/pseuds/Bannerific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is keeping the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist up at night.  Set post-film.  Tiny spoilers, maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anytime

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into Português available: [A qualquer hora](http://archiveofourown.org/works/991577) by [Rosetta (Melime)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Rosetta)
> 
> I've been trying to get Tony and Bruce out of my head for a couple of weeks now, and it's driving me crazy. So I had to write about it. It started out as a drabble, but I couldn't stop once I got started.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, or any of that. Especially Tony Stark. Nobody owns Tony Stark.

Tony Stark couldn't sleep. He was curled up on a mattress that had been custom-made to his specific preferences, under blankets that cost more than some new cars, in a building with his _fucking name on the side,_ and he couldn't sleep. He knew why, too. It was Bruce. Dr. Bruce Banner. Tony's "Companion of Science", as Thor had dubbed him.

It had been the tiniest of things. But Tony had noticed it. He refused to directly address the fact that had he not been studying Bruce to begin with, he would never have noticed, and would therefore have never found himself staring up at the ceiling at four in the morning. But that was what had happened.

They were gathered in a living room, one of many that Tony's building contained. This one was the undisputed favorite of the team, not because of the size of its television screen, but because of its proximity to food. In fact, this particular room actually had its own kitchen, a luxurious _seven and a half feet_ from the couch. Thor and Steve were staring avidly at the screen, where Vin Diesel and The Rock were facing off, and Natasha sat nearby trying to look bored. Clint was in the hall outside, taking a call from Nick Fury, who seemed to think that out of all the Avengers who could handle a cell phone, Clint was the most likely to take him seriously. Bruce was chopping vegetables for the salad that was to accompany the homemade pizza baking in the oven, and Tony was mixing drinks. No one had expressed any real interest in drinks when Tony had suggested them, but damned if he wasn't going to take an opportunity to show off one of his talents.

He had just finished pouring four portions of his newest unnamed creations (Bruce and Steve had both politely declined any alcohol at all), when he found his eyes stuck on the doctor sharing his kitchen. Tony was often a hazard in the kitchen, when he bothered to make anything more complicated than toast. Alcohol was the only medium he really worked well with, when it came to consumables. But Bruce had revealed a secret talent when Tony had invited him to use the kitchen whenever he liked. Just now, he was cutting some onions, and it was the most fascinating thing Tony had ever seen. Bruce's hands moved with the grace of a concert pianist, his strokes with the knife precise and even, yet smooth, quick, efficient. Every piece of onion that was dropped into the salad bowl was exactly the same size and shape, and Bruce's knife never faltered or slowed. But even more interesting to Tony than the doctor's hands was his face. It was smooth, calm, untroubled. Tony had seen that look on the faces of musicians, artists, dancers; the look of peace, when one is completely consumed by one's craft, and nothing else can penetrate that cloud of solitude and completeness created by it. It was a beautiful expression, and Tony had never expected to see it on the face of the man who contained the Hulk, but there it was.

A commercial break had just interrupted the onscreen action when Clint breezed back through the door, tossing his cell phone on the counter and flopping onto a free seat next to Steve.

"That's the fourth time this week," Clint grumbled, rubbing his forehead as Natasha muted the television. "We're not toddlers, for Christ's sake. If he calls me 'just to check up on us' one more time, I'm gonna shoot myself."

And there it was.

Clint's return to the room had not broken Bruce's quiet concentration, but it quickly became evident to Tony that Bruce had, in fact, been listening. It was a slight hesitation, the briefest of pauses in his work, and the almost inaudible intake of breath when Clint said "shoot myself". And Tony noticed. Immediately Bruce's words floated back to him from what seemed like a great distance.

 _"I got low,"_ he had said. _"I didn't see an end so I put a bullet in my mouth and the other guy spit it out."_ The words haunted Tony; to imagine that Bruce had felt so hopeless, so desperate, that he had put the barrel of a gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. He had been completely prepared to die at that moment. _And at how many other moments?_ Tony couldn't help but wonder.

And he had kept wondering. And worrying. And contemplating. He had eventually pulled his eyes away from Bruce's face, enjoyed the movie and the food and the company, and managed to convince everyone, including himself, that he had nothing on his mind but the next drink, and maybe the next movie.

But a few hours later, Bruce's voice in Tony's head was just as present. Just as clear, and just as bitter. Tony had already tried all the sleep methods he'd ever heard, and still he couldn't keep his eyes closed. The only real idea he had left was to actually go and talk to Bruce. He knew Bruce probably didn't really want to talk about it, and for all his bravado, suicide wasn't really on the list of Things That Tony Trivializes. But what else could he do?

So it was that at 4:17 a.m. Tony Stark found himself wandering down the hall in boxers, slippers, and a wife beater, to the lab.

But Bruce wasn't there. It surprised Tony that he wasn't the only one who had decided to actually try to sleep on a mattress tonight, rather than facedown at a lab table.

When he got to Bruce's bedroom, he knocked lightly on the door… and nothing happened.

"Bruce?" Tony whispered, pressing his ear to the door. It sounded like someone was speaking from within, low and quick. But no one answered the door, so Tony cautiously let himself in.

Bruce was obviously wrapped in a nightmare, his face dripping with sweat as he twisted away from unseen hands. He cried out every so often, his words slurred by sleep and terror such that Tony couldn't catch but a few words.

"Stop… please… _Tony…_ "

And then Tony was at his side in an instant, gently gripping his arms as he sat down beside his friend.

"Bruce! Bruce, come on," Tony called gently. "Bruce, I'm here." And then Bruce jerked awake, eyes wild and hands trembling.

The two men stared at each other for several moments, Tony halfway holding Bruce up, then Bruce relaxed back onto his sweat-drenched pillow and closed his eyes.

"Oh _God,_ Tony," Bruce groaned. "I haven't had a nightmare that bad in ages." Tony didn't know what to say to that, so he just settled for letting go of Bruce's arms and placing his hands on his knees.

For a while, the room was silent except for Bruce's harsh breathing, which was slowly returning to normal. Eventually, he opened his eyes and dragged himself to a sitting position, drawing his knees up as he settled against the headboard. He asked the time and Tony told him.

"Was there… a particular reason you came in here?" Bruce inquired, cocking an eyebrow.

 _Crap._ There really was no way to pass this off as a casual visit, was there? _Alright, out with it, Stark._

"I was just… I wanted to make sure you're okay." _What?_

"Oh. Um. Thank you?"

Tony scrambled. He really hadn't thought any of this out at all.

"I was thinking about something you said, once, to me. Well, to all of us, really, back when we were working for Fury together, and you mentioned something about trying to shoot yourself, which, hello, alarm bells! Anyway, it really bothered me, because I kept thinking that that couldn't possibly have been the only time you'd thought about it. But then I forgot about it for a while because we were kind of, you know, otherwise occupied. And then I think I got a concussion or something. And then shawarma happened, and I really forgot, and, you know, I was thinking, we really should go out for shawarma tomorrow night, which I guess is really tonight, since it's like four in the morning. But anyway, I sort of forgot about the whole you-almost-blowing-your-brains-out thing until today when Barton said something about shooting himself and you kind of reacted and I happened to notice because I had been watching you. Not to be a creep or anything, just because you were cooking and the way you operate in a kitchen is just beyond fascinating, and you sort of hesitated for a second and it made me remember what you said and it's been in my head all night. So… there we are."

Not for the first time, Tony was exceptionally grateful that Bruce was never bothered by his lengthy narratives.

"I see," Bruce murmured, looking up at Tony. Tony couldn't remember where during the course of his ramblings he had gotten to his feet, but there he was. "And you wanted to ask me if that was the only time I had ever thought of… blowing my brains out?"

"Well, when you put it that way-"

"No, it wasn't."

Tony stopped short. "Oh."

"But it's been a while," Bruce said, scooting over to make room for Tony to sit. Tony sat, scrubbing his hand through his hair, unable to meet Bruce's eyes. "Nothing worked, so I kind of gave up." He chuckled, a dry, mirthless laugh that didn't touch his eyes. "It's kind of pathetic, when you think about it. I tried to give up on life, and eventually I even had to give up on suicide." He sighed, the laughter gone as quick as it had come. "Couldn't even do that right."

But Tony wasn't having any of that.

"Wait a minute, we're not doing that again," he began. Too often, he found himself contradicting Bruce's self-deprecating statements. He found himself taking it way too personally, defending Bruce hotly against himself. He had opened his mouth to take the defensive yet again when something in Bruce's eyes stopped him. He thought for a moment, then started again. What was it that Pepper had always been trying to get him to do? _Oh, right._ "Do you… want to talk about it?"

"Do you?"

"I don't really know. I don't think I've ever had a moment in my life where I didn't see a way out." This was the truth; there was never a situation Tony couldn't lie, sleep, or invent his way out of. And he had never really faced depression.

Silence fell again; neither man knew what to say to the other, and for a while they were both lost in their own thoughts. Then, Tony decided to ask about the nightmare.

"So… what was your nightmare about?" _Jesus, Stark, do you have_ any _fucking tact?_

If Bruce was bothered by Tony's question, he didn't show it. "Oh, the usual. Just Hulked out, started destroying things… people… same old, same old."

"But you said you hadn't-"

"Yeah, this time was a little different," Bruce conceded. "Usually, I dream about waking up after an incident, and find loved ones dead, innocents… wreckage, destruction, all that. But this time…" He paused to rub his eyes with his fists. "This time, I _was_ the Hulk. And I could see everything I was doing, and there wasn't _shit_ I could do to stop it." Another sigh. "I don't know what's worse: not knowing what I'm doing until it's too late, or knowing and being helpless anyway."

 _But you said my name,_ Tony thought.

"Did I?" Bruce said with some surprise. _Shit, pay attention to your mouth, Stark._

"Yeah, you were talking in your sleep."

"Someone told me I do that once," Bruce said, but he didn't offer any further explanation until he realized Tony was staring at him. He looked off into the darkness as he continued. "Oh. I guess… you were trying to stop me, but you weren't in your suit, and I just… swatted you away like a fly." There was a tense pause. "I... killed you."

It was the first time Tony had ever heard Bruce's voice shake, even since they had met. On an impulse, he put his hand over the top of Bruce's, trying to figure out what to say, trying to impart strength, and hoping that his eyes were saying the right things for him. It appeared that they were, because when Bruce finally met his gaze, he said, "Thanks, Tony."

"Anytime, man." 

The pause that followed grew uncomfortable after a while, so Tony removed his hand and stood up. "Well, I won't keep you up any longer, I guess. Sorry if I bothered you."

"Not at all," Bruce assured him.

"Well… good night." Tony stood there for a couple more seconds, then walked away.

"Good night," Bruce replied. And then, just as Tony reached the door, "Tony?"

Tony turned, an eyebrow raised.

"If you felt like it, you could-"

"Do you want me to?"

"If _you_ wanted to-"

"Only if you're comfortable-"

"I wouldn't mind-"

"Good." With that, Tony came back, kicked his slippers off, and slid into the bed beside the doctor, squeezing one of his hands and stretching out an arm beneath Bruce's head. "Just in case you have any more nightmares."

"Thanks, Tony," Bruce said again.

And again, Tony said, "Anytime."


End file.
